Reoccurring Nightmare
by JAirra Tillman
Summary: A cop looks to the aid of Jonathon Crane. Old story, finally a small update after almost 3 years of inactivity. Wow.


Reoccurring Nightmare

By J'Airra Tillman

"Arkham Asylum, home of the criminally insane." I try my best to make conversation with the two guards escorting me through the dim-lighted corridors. It's no use--they don't respond. Everything here is quiet and still, the only thing that could be heard are faint cackles from within the Joker's cell. I'm not here for him, however.

We stop in front of the cell of Jonathon Crane, better known as the Scarecrow. One of the guards goes over to the cell's door and opens it. I begin to sweat, my pulse speeds up; I'm nervous -- I'm a rookie.

The door creaks open and I'm told that I have 15 minutes. I nod to the two guards, and then slowly walk in to the cell. The door slams behind me and there I see the Scarecrow, no Jonathon Crane, seated at a table (both chair and table are bolted to the floor), reading. He hasn't even glimpsed in my direction. Probably, trying to intimidate me. It's working.

I take a seat at the table, opposite of Crane, so I'm facing him. I clear my throat, nothing's there, but I want his attention. He lowers his book and raises his head. I clear my throat again. This time it feels like something heavy is lodged there, hindering my speech. "I n-need y-your help." I managed.

He closes his book and pushes it to the side. This is a signal to me that he is interested and I should continue. "My name is Lisa Miller, I'm an officer at the Gotham Central PD." I take my badge and warrant (which, I had forged) from my jacket's pocket and present it to him. He doesn't seem at all startled. Why should he be? This is the master of fear, and besides I'm sure he has seen both of these items more than a few times in his criminal career.

"What type of help do you need?" His voice was surprisingly calming and it relaxed me somewhat. I expected him to be a heckling manic. On the contrary, he sounded quite charming and though scrawny, I found him attractive.

"I need to get rid of a fear…my fear." I lowered my eyes to the table and studied the rings of its wooden panels. Then, I rubbed the surface with my index finger.

"I induce and exploit fear", he said passionately. I look up and into his eyes. They look intense and make my heart skip a beat.

"Yes, yes…but I figured that-"

"If I can induce fear, I can remove it?" he interrupts me and I nod to confirm that he is correct. "Face it." I was perplexed by what he had just uttered to me and I think he sensed it. "The oldest trick in the book…In order to get rid of a fear, you must face it."

"I've tried, believe me." I feel my eyes begin to sting. I am about to cry. I tell myself not to, but I start to relive _that _night in my mind and let a single tear escape me. "Please, I know you can," I plead.

He takes my hand in his and caresses it. At that moment, it felt like all of the blood in my body rushed to my face. "I will help you, if you'll help me."

"Yes, anything."

"Help me escape."

"Times up," one of the guards whom previously escorted me beckons out. As I stood up, I kept constant eye contact with Crane. How did he expect me to help him escape? I can't believe I am even contemplating this and that I'm here.

This never happened, I wasn't here.

---------------------

Well, tell that to Commissioner Gordon.

Gordon found out about my unauthorized visit to Arkham Asylum and I was put on long-term suspension. I am as good as fired. Being an officer wasn't my dream, anyways -- I wanted to be a performer.

Tonight is surprisingly quiet; especially considering this is the East End. I lay in bed, afraid to close my eyes. Because then, I dream that same dream. No a nightmare, a memory of 8 years ago that haunts me to this day.

I'll always remember, no matter what I do, but it's more vivid when I sleep. That's why I'm afraid to close my eyes. Yet, exhaustion overwhelms my body and against my will, I sleep…I dream:

_8 years ago, I was 16, alone on the street…put out by my mother. I aspired to be a performer -- a song and dance act. I always thought I would get my start at the Penguin's nightclub. There, I was to be discovered. Though, I was turned away each time I had auditioned, until one faithful night…_

_It had been a harsh winter in Gotham and there was a flu epidemic. I tried my luck again, one night, that winter. I wasn't turned away._

_The Penguin gave me a brief interview and rundown of what I was to do. He asked for my age. I lied; I told him I was 18. Penguin never bothered to acquire proof; perhaps desperation on his part since many of his performers cancelled due to illness. The show had to go on._

_And there I was, in a skimpy costume and on stage, where I belonged. I was flawless and wowed the crowd. They cheered for an encore and who was I to deny my fans? Yes, I was astonishing._

_After the performance, Penguin paid me half of what he promised. I was a bit upset, but it didn't matter much--I was doing what I loved. What's more, it was enough for me to stay in a motel for a week and I was sure he would want me back._

_I left the club…_

_I walked through an alley and heard a voice call out to me from behind, "I saw you perform." _

_I turned around and smiled. Standing there was a man of small-stature with messy brown hair holding a single red rose. "You were astonishing." He held out the rose to me. As I accepted it, he deeply inhaled an imaginary scent from my hand. "You smell much fragrant than this rose." That should have alarmed me._

"_Thank you, but I really need to get going."_

_He grabbed my arm._

"_Please don't leave."_

_I tried to maneuver my arm from his grasp, but it only made him hold on tighter. I was afraid and begun to panic._

"_Please, don't make me hurt you."_

_I screamed for help._

"_No. Stop it," he demanded. I wouldn't and he tackled me to the snow-covered ground, then he gagged me with a cloth from his pocket. _

_I struggled from underneath him to get away. It only agitated him more and he begun to violently remove my clothes. I pleaded, I cried, he told me he loved me._

_I decided for one last effort; I would put all the strength I could muster into this. With my fist, I started to wildly pound at his chest, his face. It was futile. All I could do is stare in horror, as he pulled out a knife and stabbed me in my stomach._

_The pain was unbearable and I became dizzy. My vision was blurred and everything around me was spinning. I was slipping into unconsciousness. And as this happened, he raped me. _

_Everything faded to black..._

Like so many nights before, I wake up in terror. My breathing is irregular and I am clutching tightly to the bed's sheet. Beneath me, I feel a small puddle. When I can compose myself, I'll change this sheet or maybe I'll just lie here and wallow in it tonight.

---------------------

Morning. I don't want to get out of bed. Hell, I don't want to live. But, for some reason, I do get up.

I clean up my soiled sheets and then pour myself a cup of coffee. I can barely hold the mug still. I'm a trembling mess.

Ha! What kind of cop was I, anyways? I thought that the police force would make me a stronger person, and help me put the past behind me.

I look down at my scarred wrists. This causes me to collapse to knees and drop scalding-hot coffee on my lap. I begin to sob uncontrollably. Not because of the searing pain in my lap, but because I'm pathetic. Why can't I get through this? Other woman have been in similar predicaments and managed to work through it, but I'm just a hopeless wreck.

Hours pass, my head is buried in knees and I'm in the exact spot where I collapsed earlier. I want to cry, but I have no more tears. Suddenly, the phone rings. I stare at it for a moment and let it ring. I'm hoping that the person on other end will give up, but this person is persistent. Finally, I pull myself together (as much as I possibly can in my condition) and slowly walk over to phone.

"Hello, who am I speaking to?"

"Crane."

To be continued…

Characters and anything Bat-verse related is copyright of DC Comics. The only things, I can lay claim to is "Lisa Miller" (unless, there is one in the DC universe that is exactly like the one in this story) and this story.


End file.
